


The Younger Prince

by Sonora



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Feels, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of the marriage between Charles Hansen and Jazmine Becket, both Raleigh and Hercules are forced to confront their own painful past.</p><p>Or, the Regency AU nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Standing at the parapit, Hercules could see the banners of the Becket family winding up the long road to the drawbridge, across all the flat open country below his castle’s high vantage point. His heart ached. The letters had come yesterday; he knew who would be in that party. 

The matter was, however, unavoidable. Long had his country hosted the annual Pacifica Tournament, through peace and war, and this year was to be something special indeed. This was the year his son was to wed the princess of that house, the fulfillment of an engagement reaching back before either child’s birth. The younger Becket son’s attendance at the festivities was something he could wave away on some pretext, no matter how noble his reasons, and his reasons were not noble. 

Once, perhaps, they had been. Now, though, he sought only to spare himself more pain.

“Looks to be a fine week for the tourney, my king,” his captain-at-arms remarked, elbows resting atop the battlements. “Young Charles must be well-pleased with the gods.”

“They smile on us all, Tendo,” Hercules grunted. Those banners were closing fast. “And I daresay young Charles is more pleased with the prospect of fighting than marriage. He asked me to delay the damn ceremony until after we finish the games. He has no grasp of priorities.”

“Yes, that is the way with the young,” Tendo agreed.

And Hercules shook his head. “You’ve scarce seen your thirtieth summer yourself, Choi.”

“While Charles has only barely passed his twentieth-first,” Tendo replied with a smile. “And his bride, Jazmine, turned eighteen last month. It is hard, to be so new to the world and so full of opinions about the way it all is.”

“Indeed it is. How is your own bride doing?” Hercules asked, deflecting the unbidden images of another Becket at that same age, how sweet he’d been, how innocent and full of wonder. Golden, he’d seemed.

By the gods, the boy had been so young back then. 

“Alison?” Tendo always brightened at the mention of her. “She’s very well. She wanted me to extend you a thanks, sire, for selecting her younger sister as Lady Jazmine’s personal attendant. It’s quite the honor.”

Hercules grunted again. “Your families have always served mine well. I have every faith in her abilities.”

Tendo grinned. “Alison was even more grateful you didn’t select her.”

And at that, the king allowed himself a small smile. “She’s with child again, isn’t she?”

“Has her hands full with the rest of them,” Tendo replied proudly, and launched into the usual chatter about his brood.

Hercules was content to let the man talk as he would. It was soothing, in a way, to know that life continued, despite the Kaiju incursions. His own dear Angela had been killed in one of the first attacks, years back, their younger children accompanying her in a visit to the coastal city of her birth. 

Charles, eight at the time, had been training with the pages, or he would have been lost as well. He had taken the deaths of his mother and sisters hard, and it had been all Hercules could do to raise the boy alone, properly. The Becket family, especially Queen Dominique, might as well have been sent by the gods, the way they welcomed Charles in as a third son.

Thinking of her, Hercules shivered. As young men, he and Richard had once been goodnatured rivals for her hand. He hated to think what she would say to him, if she knew what he had done with her son.

The banners were almost at the gates, and Hercules could make out two figures, riding proudly at the front of the small procession, blue capes thrown across light traveling mail, glinting silver in the sun. To Hercules’ skilled eye, one was easy in the saddle, the other, rolling a little more than he should have been, a testament to the past five years of his life.

Raleigh. 

His poor boy.

Not that Raleigh was ever or could ever be his.

Raleigh had erased any doubt of that himself.

Tendo had long since fallen silent, watching him carefully. “Lost in thought, milord? You seem troubled.”

“Keep me abreast of any particularly strange gossip amongst the men, will you? I haven’t seen my son’s betrothed since she was in pigtails,” Hercules said, clapping his old friend on the shoulder, turning away for the stairs, heart heavy. He had many preparations left to oversee, not the least of which was wrestling his son out of his armor and into his court finery for the evening’s feast, the games to begin the day after tomorrow.

“What do you need to know, sire? She’s a Becket!” Tendo called after him, a chuckle in the words.

A Becket indeed.

+++++

There had been no first meeting, not with Raleigh Becket. There had only been a gradual awareness of him, first as a toddler clutching at his brother’s leg, Yancy trying gamely to be as politic and polite to a visiting king as a crown prince was required to be. A young boy with sandy-blond hair and bright eyes, soaking in the stories about heroics past. A gangly thing of thirteen, mud on his knees and blood on his face in Hercules’ stable yard, facing down the sword master, afraid and desperate not to show it.

A youth on the cusp of adulthood, seventeen winters to his name and an eighteenth approaching, bowing low at threshold of his family’s grand keep.

“Greetings from the Kingdom of Anchorage, my liege. My father apologies for his failure to greet you, but he has scarcely left the war room for a fortnight,” Raleigh said that autumn, hand swept low. “He bids you welcome to his home, with all his gratitude for your presence and gratefulness that you came so swiftly, and, umm...”

Hercules chuckled at the boy’s hesitation, and dismounted from his charger. “And the Kaiju forces are once again amassing on the coasts to the east, and such threats are better dealt with directly. No need for flowery prose, dear Raleigh. Just say it straight.”

Raleigh had flushed, puffing up at the same time. “Father says I am to greet a king properly.”

“So you have. I am much pleased with my greeting. Now, pray, where is your father’s war room? We have much to discuss, him and I.”

“He has set up in his study, actually. I trust you know the place?”

“Yes, dear Raleigh, I do, but perhaps you would like to accompany me? I have not seen you in years, and I long to know how you have been.”

The boy had smiled at him then, eyes bright.

That, perhaps, was the first time Hercules thought of Raleigh as beautiful.

So there had been firsts _with_ Raleigh Becket. First touch, first kiss, the first feel of bare skin meeting bare skin. It wasn’t as if Hercules had set out to seduce the boy. Far from it; the Kingdom of Anchorage was old and large and incomparably set in its ways, and its traditions did not allow for men, especially noblemen, to love other men. Silly though it seemed to him, his own father had beat statecraft into him from birth, and Hercules knew better than to disrespect another land’s customs. Raleigh Becket was beautiful, but he was firmly off limits.

Nobody seemed to have told Raleigh that, though. 

Their old patterns slowly - on that visit - gave way to new. Purely political discussions led to intimate evening chats by the fire, innocent questions turned to more heated suggestion, mentorship gave way to courting. Raleigh snuck into his room one night, after the whole castle had gone to bed, asking for a cup of wine and the rest of the story about the campaigns in the desert mountains, and fallen asleep on his shoulder in the telling. Hercules made the mistake of knocking the boy in a horse-trough during a spar, much to the amusement of the onlookers, and to his own pain; Raleigh had emerged with sodden linen clinging to every angle of his youthful body.

He was sin incarnate, Raleigh Becket was. An angel made flesh. A beautiful, wonderful, terrible temptation.

And, one night, alone in a corridor, Hercules had made his fatal mistake.

He pushed Raleigh into a wall, and kissed him. 

He had had no peace since.

He had deserved none.

+++++

Nervousness thrumming in his blood, Raleigh gingerly dismounted in the small courtyard, taking in the ivy-covered stone around him. Well he knew it; their families had been intertwined the moment Jazmine had been born, his only sister the fulfillment of a promise made long before.

She could have done worse than a Hansen for her husband. Charles was aggressive, brilliant, and never backed down from a fight, a good match for Raleigh’s feisty sister, and they all knew each other well. Charles had fostered with them, as Yancy and Raleigh had with him, brothers in everything but blood, and even that small technicality would be taken care of shortly. 

Hercules had been as much a father to them as their own had been, and in the five years since his passing, a much-needed voice of experience as Yancy struggled to control so large a kingdom at so young an age.

Raleigh had always admired the man. Always looked up to him, practically worshiped him as a child, but even that had gone all to ruin.

The king had lied to him.

By all the gods, it still hurt. Five years since the end of their tryst, eight since its beginning, and it still hurt. He had had tried everything he could think of to heal it, but that last betrayal... it ached. It _burned_.

“What troubles you, brother?” Yancy asked, coming up beside him, worry in his eyes, the rest of their entourage clattering into the courtyard behind them. “Should I fetch the surgeon for you?”

“No, no, he’s had a long ride himself, and I’m confident that’s all it is,” Raleigh replied, flashing his brother a smile and rolling his shoulder. 

He could feel the ache in the muscles, the lingering effects of Kaiju Blue from his last battle. Taking the poisoned blade in the shoulder had been the price of saving Yancy’s life; Raleigh was glad to pay it, even if it had left him badly scarred. _He wouldn’t even want you now,_ he thought to himself suddenly, and grimaced.

Yancy, however, pulled off his riding gloves with pointed slowness. “You are a bad liar. Always have been. I told you to ride in the carriage...”

“And suffer our sister’s prattle about how Charles is nothing but an overgrown child?” Raleigh chuckled, and clapped Yancy on the shoulder. “No, I have endured quite enough of her bile during my convalescence. I’d ride a thousand leagues more to avoid another hour of that.”

“I can hear you, you know!” Jazmine called, descending the carriage’s little stairs, huffy. “What about the respect you two owe a lady, huh?”

“Start acting like a lady and I’ll consider it,” Raleigh told her, only half-joking.

She punched him in the good arm, and smiled winsomely at Yancy. “If Charles dies in the tourney, will I still have to wed?”

Yancy chuckled, and tugged on the end of her braid. “Now, Father agreed to have you instructed in the short sword and riding astride because it is the tradition of this land, that their noblewomen be able to defend themselves as well as the men. But do not let that go to your head, dear sister. You are soon to be the lady of a great house, not some shieldmaiden, screeching like a harpy on the battlefield. You understand me?”

“But you two both went to war,” she whined.

Raleigh sighed, and reached out to pull her into a half-hug. “There is no freedom or glory in killing, Jaz. It’s just death.”

“You keep _saying_ that,” she grumped against his chest, “but you spent five years at the front.”

Raleigh caught Yancy’s eyes over the top of her strawberry-blond head. His brother had gone flinty on him. Once, just once, very inebriated on strong old wine, heart freshly broken, Raleigh had confessed his shame, his disgrace, to his older brother. Yancy had just held him as he cried, wordless. 

After that, his shame too great to bear, Raleigh had gone to their father and begged him to allow him to head out to the front. Father had agreed that it was a good idea - _clear your head, refocus yourself, remember your duty, my son, and find your damned dignity again, a prince of this kingdom, not some stable boy to be tumbled in the barn_ \- and Raleigh had left the next day. 

For years after Father died, Raleigh had resisted all his brother’s efforts to recall him to the capitol. Finally, Yancy gave up and simply came out to retrieve him instead. _Our sister is eighteen this May, and if I have to hack off all your limbs and drag you home, you will be at the ceremony._

Raleigh suspected Yancy knew why he’d not obeyed any of the summons. And a few months ago, he thought himself justified in that reasoning. But his stubbornness had nearly cost his brother his life, a Kaiju scout force taking them by surprise in the mountain passes on the way home. Raleigh had only barely managed to get them to safety in their own lands, running Gipsy - the only horse that had not been spooked or killed in the ambush - to death, his brother’s favored stallion dropping half a mile from the outmost garrison. Raleigh had somehow carried an unconscious Yancy the rest of the way to the gates before collapsing himself. They later told him he’d still had the knife lodged in his left shoulder. 

The months it took him to recover from his wounds Raleigh considered to be penance. For allowing himself to stray from his duty to the family. For being blinded to the realities of the situation. For letting himself get distracted by some unseemly, immoral affair, to the detriment of those who truly loved him. 

Father was right. 

Men do not love each other. Men cannot love each other.

What he thought he felt for Hercules was the mere, stupid worship of a child, and what Hercules felt for him...

Raleigh spent many a night drinking, trying to drown that question. Forget he had ever had to ask it. If it had not been love, then what? He had not yet found an answer that did not leave him feeling dirty. Used. By a man he’d once thought of as a father, admired as a father. But liquor did little to fill up the hole Hercules had left in Raleigh’s heart. War had been a better balm, even if it had left him numb and exhausted, a solution, not a cure.

But even that was denied to him now.

The court surgeon, Doctor Geizsler, was one of the most brilliant medical minds in the Pacific region, but even he had been unable to restore Raleigh’s full strength, or stop the phantom pains and spasms. Raleigh would never hold a sword again. And even if he had been able to manage it, Yancy refused to allow it.

 _I do not care what Father's position on the matter was, you are my brother and I love you and I'll not lose you to those beasts_ , Yancy had told him. _So this is my first order to you as king; your military career is over._

“Raleigh is correct, dear sister,” Yancy said. “You are far too pretty, and far too intelligent, to be wasted in that meat grinder. Better you use your gifts to make yourself a good life here.”

“You mean produce little Hansens for the fa...”

And then Mako was by Raleigh’s side, her two-year-old daughter tucked into the crook of her arm, belly swollen with her second child, not at all looking as if she’d spent the last three days in a carriage. “Sister, I love you and your nervousness on the eve of these nuptials I feel as my own, but you deliberately being a brat,” she said in that pleasant, terrifying way of her. “Stop it. Now.”

Jazmine frowned, clearly gearig up for a fight, and Raleigh watched with relief as Yancy’s suspicion melted, replaced by affection for his queen. Mako had been the daughter of the Lord Governor of Hong Kong, the two of them meeting during a treaty negotiation in the island nation. Yancy had been smitten from the first, according to his own account. He’d come home with the treaty, but he’d also come home with a bride. Father had been apoplectic about it. 

At the time, it had given Raleigh hope. If Yancy had bucked Father's yoke long enough to marry as he would...

But it had only ever been foolishness.

The doors of the hall swung open, Jazmine's protests dying in her mouth as Charles came striding down towards them. "He's really grown up," she whispered in Raleigh's ear, awestruck.

It was all Raleigh could do to not agree with her. Charles had indeed grown out of his awkward youth into a gorgeous man... and Raleigh squashed the thought immediately. He had tried so hard to do as Father had ordered, to forget the desire that the male body awakened in his heart, but no matter how much he denied himself, he could not make the desire come for a woman.

That had been another wonderful thing about the battlefield. No need to worry about such things. If he needed something, it had been easy to get in the mostly-male camps, nobody questioning the prince availing himself of some junior officer's attention.

This return to civilization, Raleigh realized with a sudden chill, was going to be even more difficult than he'd imagined.

Handshakes and bows were exchanged, Jazmine turning a bright shade of red when Charles kissed her hand - rather stiffly, but Raleigh couldn’t help but smile at the valiant attempt at decorum - but then the king was standing in the doors.

And just seeing Hercules again, older, grimmer, dressed in his usual grays and greens, sent a flood of emotion so strong through Raleigh that his knees felt weak.

He remembered - oh, how he couldn’t forget - sweet words whispered in the darkness, promises, affections, kisses traded in secret, everything terribly new and important and precious, the king’s hands on his skin, caressing him with a gentleness that nobody had ever given him before, the king’s manhood, throbbing deep inside...

“Yancy, Raleigh!” Hercules called, in a voice that could only be described as happy, and Raleigh felt himself shrink back, letting go of Jazmine, even as Charles rolled his eyes. “Dear boys, I feel as if I have not seen you in years.”

“You have indeed been a stranger in our lands,” Yancy agreed, stepping forward, in front of Raleigh, to shake Hercules’ extended hand. “We have missed you greatly. These yearly tournaments are simply not enough.”

“Regretfully, my travel is mostly to the southern front these days,” Hercules said. “These Kaiju bastards just won’t stop coming.”

“You should see the casualty numbers coming out of the north. It’s a fucking travesty.”

“Yes, news of the your encounter has reached us down here. Attacking the king on his own roads. This rabble from the sea has no honor, no honor at all,” Hercules said, and then - oh, hell - Raleigh felt those ice-blue eyes fix on him. “You must be quite proud of your brother. Word was, he put up one hell of a fight to get you to safety.”

“No doubt your training asserting itself, milord,” Raleigh said quietly, and looked desperately to Yancy, a sudden need to flee overwhelming him. “With your leave, brother, I would tend to our chargers. It was a long trip for them, and you know how temperamental stallions can be." 

Hercules frowned. Raleigh hated him. He did, hated him for what he'd done. “I am sure our grooms are more than adequate to...” 

“It would settle my mind, dear father, if you allowed Raleigh to care for my mount,” Yancy replied, up over the top of the king’s protest. “Gipsy’s heart gave out, carrying us home, and I’ve been sore pressed to get my new mount trained properly. He’s still not quite settled with me, and I’m afraid the journey has taxed him severely. I would not want to be at a disadvantage come this week.”

Lips pursed, Hercules nodded once, terse, and Raleigh immediately began his retreat. “I did not know about Gipsy, Yancy. I grieve with you. A finer creature, I could not imagine.”

“A sore loss indeed. But I have several of his colts, for which I have high hopes. Now, I do have a few matters of great importance which I would have your counsel on, immediately if at all possible, as my sister makes herself comfortable in...”

The words faded as Raleigh beat a quick retreat, down the familiar ways to the stables. The scent of hay and warmth helped soothe his troubled heart, and he busied himself with the mindless tasks of settling their horses in.

But it wasn’t enough.

There were reminders of Hercules everywhere in the place. And Raleigh eventually sunk to the straw in the stall assigned to the yearling he and Yancy had selected as a wedding present for Charles, head between his knees. 

He didn’t cry. Wouldn’t do for a prince to be caught crying.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about.

The night when everything had gone wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

“You haven’t asked about Raleigh yet.”

The comment, innocuous though it seemed, hit Hercules like a blow from a Kaiju sword. He gritted his teeth, forcing his hands to remain steady as he finished pouring them both a glass of wine.

“I have been receiving regular reports on him from my ambassador to your court. He appears far better than what I have heard.”

“The man I remember from our youth would have been beside himself to ensure the welfare of his boys,” Yancy replied, and there was far too much rebuke in those words from Hercules’ comfort. 

He handed the young king one of the glasses, taking a seat himself in an overstuffed armchair across from his. Hercules had always preferred action to talking, training to reading, but the family library was a cozy, private space. He and Yancy had had many a conversation in the safety of its walls. Just then, however, with Yancy’s keen eyes trained on him, it felt more a cage than a refuge.

“You are no longer boys, neither of you,” he said. “Raleigh is a soldier now. He knows how to take care of himself.”

“Raleigh was a soldier,” Yancy said pointedly. “He is no longer. I have forbidden him from returning to that path. He must find his way elsewhere now.”

Hercules shook his head, guilt gnawing deep down. He had wanted to go see Raleigh, had desperately wished to be there at his side through his recovery. Five years had not dampened the love he carried for the boy, but Raleigh had been quite clear. His affections were no longer required or wanted. “What would you have me say about him?”

“I would have you ask after him.”

“Fine. How is your brother?”

“Broken,” came the immediate reply. Yancy ran a finger around the lip of his glass. “But it was not the Kaiju who broke him, Hercules, and I believe you know that.”

“Careful,” Hercules snapped. “I’ll not be insulted in my own house.”

“No insult was intended.”

“You were always too free with your words, Yancy.”

“And you were always too miserly with yours, Hercules,” Yancy snapped, and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his arms. “So let me speak for the both of us. I have always considered you a second father to me and mine. Since King Richard died, you have been a peerless friend and advisor, and my greatest wish is for this union of my sister and your son to strengthen that friendship.”

“But?”

“But while I may call you father and friend, my brother once called you something else, didn’t he?”

“Yancy, I am warning you now...”

“I know, Hercules. I know that you once took him as a lover. He confessed all to me, a week before he begged our father to send him to the front. I also know that my father caught you both out, only a few days before that.”

The bottom dropped out of the world. Hercules closed his eyes. “What else do you think you know?”

“I know that my brother had expected you to propose marriage, but you did not.” Yancy’s voice is far too calm, too even, too sympathetic for such a subject as this. “I can surmise that my father was the reason for this. But Hercules, I am king now. If you would like...”

“I am sorry if you have gone all these years thinking your father an impediment to your brother’s happiness, Yancy. But Richard was receptive to the idea, a way, perhaps, of ridding himself of the unnecessary second son,” Hercules interrupted, waving Yancy silent, standing again. “I did propose to Raleigh. And he rejected it, rather nastily, I might add. Did he tell you that?”

Yancy looked up at him. “Our father would have never agreed to such a union. Such things aren’t even legal in my lands...”

“Have I ever lied to you before, Yancy?”

“No. Of course not. But this...”

“As I reminded your father at the time, such unions are accepted in my people’s tradition, and I would have been bringing Raleigh home with me,” Hercules said, making a valiant effort to keep his voice steady. “We discussed it long, and he gave me his blessing.”

Yancy shook his head. “Hercules... you did not see him, you have not seen him. Raleigh has not been right since the day you left.”

“That was the day he turned me down,” Hercules said, breathing deep, and sighed on the exhale, trying to steady himself enough to walk away from this. “I am sorry, Yancy, if you’ve been thinking that it was I who cost you your brother, and I am sorry he left you with that impression.”

Standing, Yancy reached out a hand, not quite touching him. Yancy stood.  "Hercules, please.  I meant no offense.  I only wished to offer my own blessing, in place of my father's, if that be the issue here."  
   
"There is no issue, Yancy."   
   
"Yes, you say that, but I do not understand how..."  
   
"If it were within my power to heal your brother, I would.  But he is most like suffering from his injuries and his injuries alone.  That blue poison is insidious, and is far more likely a candidate for the cause of his pain than some old dalliance."  
   
"You know him better than that."  
   
"I know him not at all anymore.  Five years of war changes a man, and not always in ways we would like.  Perhaps you should consider that yourself, instead of blaming me for what he has become."  
   
"But when he left..."  
   
"Yancy, you know I have always considered you a son, but even for you, my largess has limits.  I have given you my answer.  The matter ended years ago, and I have no inclination to resume it, in whatever form, now.  I consider this conversation, and this subject, closed."  
   
Yancy stood, bowing ever so slightly.  He was clearly pissed, but holding it in well.  Hercules was proud of him; he hadn't had such restraint as a boy.  Authority sat well on him.  "I thank you for your time and your counsel, lord."  
   
"My time is always yours."  
   
"May I ask but one favor, considering it be my own sister I am gifting your house with this week?"  
   
"What is it?"  
   
"Talk to my brother on this."  
   
"I am always here, for both of you.  He knows that," Hercules replied, torn between compassion and fury; what right did Yancy have to question him on this?  Especially when the fault lay with his own brother, who had clearly lied about the entire affair?  And why?  To save face after the initial humiliation?  To twist himself into some blameless victim?  It stung, far more than it should.  
   
"Perhaps he will seek you out, then," Yancy said hopefully.  
   
Hercules just gave him a look, and left.  
 

+++++

   
The party was still roaring on, when Raleigh slipped from the great hall.  Feasting, music, ridiculous toasts, dances... it was all typical for the nights leading up to the start of the tourney. Although the games were, of course, a competition, it was also a time for reunions and first meetings, for intrigue and romance, the one time and place a year when everybody who was anybody were collected in the same place.  Before, as a child, Raleigh had thought the entire thing grand.  
   
That night, he was unable to enjoy any of it.  
   
He tried to tell himself it wasn't the lord of the house, but that was a lie.  Hercules wasn't even present, probably attending to some matter of state somewhere, most likely with Yancy, who was absent as well.  Yet, Raleigh felt his old lover's presence everywhere.  It was impossible to not; everything reminded him of the man.  It put him in a foul mood, not even his sister's growing glee enough to snap him out of it.   
   
Besides, his body ached from all those days in the saddle.   
   
Raleigh's feet took him through the servants' passages to the back courtyard of the keep, down a winding path through the gardens, and finally, to the entrance to a familiar grotto, the faint smell of sulfur issuing out.  He touched the stone as he passed through, soft court shoes quiet on the polished stone floor, steaming water rushing outside through a narrow channel at either side of the path.  A private place, reserved only for the royal family, and he had loved it much in his youth.   
   
The castle's location had been made possible by a series of fresh-water springs that flowed out from the rocks of the foothills.  Those were a half-mile to the east, however, cool and sweet.  This was hot and alkaline, not good for drinking but very good for resting weary muscles after a hard day's work.  Some ancestor had widened and deepened the original cavern, turning it into a pleasant, private bath.   
   
Another, larger one had been excavated further down the hill, in the town at the knees of the castle, as a public bathhouse.  It would likely be full all week, and Raleigh wondered for a moment if maybe he ought to go use that one instead.  But he longed for solitude, and the place had never been denied to him before.  
   
He undressed slowly, taking care with his left side, and folded his clothes into a a small basket on the shelf in the changing room, shoes placed in another, grabbed a cloth from the pile to the side, and padded out naked into the bath.   
   
And stopped cold.  
   
There, in the steam and the water, arms stretched out along the back of the carved tub, was Hercules.   
   
His eyes were closed, and Raleigh thought to flee, but in his shock, he slipped on the slick rock and fell against the wall, cursing softly, despite himself.  
   
"Raleigh," Hercules said, obviously surprised.  "I'd have thought you would be still at the party."  
   
Dying inside, well aware of the nasty scars left by the poison, angular patterns coursing down his arm, back, and ribs, Raleigh nevertheless kept his head up.  He wasn't about back down.  "King," he said stiffly, and pushed himself off the wall.  "I am sorry for disturbing you.  I should leave..."  
   
"No, no.  No need.  Please," and Hercules gestured at the water.  "It's not as if we have not seen each other naked before."  
   
Bile rose in Raleigh's throat, and although he knew it to be a terrible idea, he walked forward, slipping carefully into the pool.  The hot water felt heavenly on his tired bones, and the bench underwater allowed it to come up to mid-chest.  "Yes, I suppose we have."  
   
Hercules regarded him.  "You look well."  
   
"Well enough," Raleigh replied shortly.  "I would be lying if I said it has been an easy recovery."  
   
"Yes, that blue poison is terrible, from what I understand," Hercules replied.  "Scars something terrible, too."  
   
Raleigh felt something inside him shrivel all the more.  Hercules had always thought him quite handsome, or at least, he said he had.  But then, Father had said...  "Quite unappealing, I would imagine."  
   
"The gods give us our bodies, but scars are the signs of the life we make for ourselves," Hercules replied.  "No need to be ashamed of them."  
   
"I don't suppose many women would find them attractive."  
   
"And of what concern would that be?"  
   
"Yancy will have to marry me off, sooner or later," Raleigh said, trying not to sound bitter about it.  It was the political thing to do, and his final utility as the kingdom's younger prince would be quite expired once Mako gave birth to an heir.  Yancy might as well make some use of him.  "I would like for the lady not to be unhappy with her lot."  
   
Hercules just grunted.  "And what of your happiness?"  
   
"I was happy to be a soldier," Raleigh replied honestly.  "But now I cannot even fight in the tournament this week."  
   
"I thought your brother merely forbade you to return to the war?"  
   
And Raleigh laughed, bitter.  "And who told you that?  Him?  Is that what he had to discuss with you, the state of his little brother?"  
   
"He worries for you because he loves you.  Don't be so quick to throw that away."  
   
"You're in no position to be lecturing me about love, king."  
   
The indifference dropped away, real anger on Hercules' face now, and he pushed across the bath, bringing their faces close.  "You are a guest in my house, Raleigh Becket, the house of the king, and I would thank you not to abuse my hospitality by insulting me under its roof."  
   
Raleigh bit his lip.  "With all respect, sire, we're not under its roof at the moment."  
   
Hercules' eyes met his own, and there was a brief moment when Raleigh could have sworn he saw... something.  But it was merely a flash, gone too fast, and he couldn't be sure it had ever been there at all.   
   
"My lord," he began, that desperate feeling clawing in his stomach again.  
   
"I'll not tell a wounded man to leave his bath," Hercules practically growled, "so I'll take my leave from you.  Good night."  
   
And as he was getting out, heading for the changing room, the question that had been plaguing Raleigh for the last five years just erupted out of him.  "My lord, may I ask, why did you propose to me, back... back then?"  
   
Hercules stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head, short-cropped red hair dark with clinging water.  "If you do not know the answer to that, Raleigh, then I must question why were together at all, and I do not wish to do that.  Please, allow me to keep some kind of pleasant recollection of those times."  
   
Raleigh had thought his heart broken before; this was far worse, Father's words rushing to mind.  _Men do not fall in love with each other..._  
   
He had never really believed it.  Not until that moment, those words. For hadn't he fallen in love, at least? Hadn't he felt it himself? Hadn't Hercules felt... anything?  
   
"Of course," he whispered, and turned back to the water.  He didn't bother watching Hercules leave him alone.  Not again.  He wasn't strong enough to do that again.  
   
He stayed for a long time in the water, but it no longer warmed him.  And when he did finally leave it to head back to his chamber, and bed, his dreams were troubled.

+++++

   
"What did you say about me to the king?" Raleigh asked his brother, over breakfast the next morning.   
   
"Little, other than to let him know of your condition and that he, as a seasoned warrior himself, may be able to offer you counsel better than mine at this time," Yancy said mildly, and finished off his scone.  
   
Raleigh just stared at him, aghast. “You told him to talk to me?"  
   
"Yes."  
   
"We talked. He spoke as I expected him to. I do not wish to speak to him again,” Raleigh said shortly.  "What else did you say to him?"  
   
Yancy fell quiet for a moment, sipping his chocolate.  "I told him the truth, that I knew of your affair..."  
   
"Yancy!”

"...and do you know what he told me?  He told me that you lied to me, brother.  That he requested your hand, proposed graciously, and that you turned him down."  
   
Raleigh felt his heart stop.  "What?"  
   
"Did he propose to you, or not?"  
   
"He... he did," Raleigh admitted slowly, face burning with shame.  Because yes, he had not told Yancy that Hercules had proposed, but then, he hadn't mentioned it for good reason.  What good was such a proposal to him at that point?  How sincere could it have been?  "But you don't understand, Father..."  
   
“Hang the dead bastard. Why did you lie to me?”  
   
“I...”  
   
"Casting yourself as the victim doesn't make a bitter situation more sweet, Raleigh."  
   
"That's not what I was doing!"  
   
"Then explain it to me."  
   
"Yancy, don't..."  
   
"You embarrass me in front of a man I very much admire, and you expect my support?!” Yancy thundered, smacking the table with a fist, making the plates jump. “Dammit! What else are you not telling me?”

“I told you what happened,” Raleigh whispered, injured. 

“You were drunk,” Yancy replied, and poured himself another cup of chocolate. “Tell me again.”

“I never asked you to get involved!”

And then it was not the king that spoke next, but his brother, eyes soft and words worried. “Rals, I lost you for five years to this foolishness. Please. I need to understand why.”  
   
Raleigh stared down at his food, gathering his thoughts in an attempt to do what was ordered of him. 

“As I said before,” he was finally able to say, “there is little to tell. Father found us entwined, far out in the peach orchards, the ones at the spring estate, you know, when Hercules was out helping the generals with the campaign planning. We had ridden out for the day, thinking we would have privacy there. They fought. Father ordered me back to the house alone, but Hercules pulled me back and...” 

He faltered, remembering that day. The sweet scent of the new grass and the sound of his lover’s laughter against his skin, laying there together. The fear of it, then the anger, the way he had to hold Hercules back from the calvary saber tied to his saddle horn, begging him to calm down, finally falling on his knees in front of his father in tears as his sentence was pronounced.

And Hercules had lifted him back to his feet, after Father had ridden away again, kissing him, holding him.

“I swear to you, my darling boy, I will make this right.”

“How? I am disgraced. Father will marry me off or send me to the war or pack me off to the Navy, just to be rid of me. I’ll never see you again, he’ll make sure of that, he’ll...”

“I will ask him.”

“What?”

“I will ask him for your hand and marry you and take you home, where nobody will care if the husband of the king is naked in the peach orchard on such a beautiful May morning as this.”

Raleigh had clung to his lover, and let himself hope.

Hope, for a little while.

Until Father sat him down over a quiet meal, anger faded to nothing but concern, and explained to him how things truly worked. How Hercules had merely been using him, how Hercules had betrayed the trust Richard had placed in him as a foster father, how he had failed Raleigh by allowing him anywhere near the man and could not, in good conscious, continue to allow it.

Father had teared up, speaking of it.

Raleigh had only ever seen him cry at Mother’s funeral.

“He loves me,” Raleigh had finally said, all his other excuses destroyed, that the last thing standing between him and his father’s wisdom. “Father, he loves me.”

“Men do not fall in love with each other, my son. We love, deeply and truly, but as family, as brothers-in-arms, never as lovers. That is why the gods do not permit such unions. It goes against the very nature of us.”

“But I know he does!”

“Has he ever said it, Raleigh? Has he ever used those words with you?”

But Raleigh couldn’t remember ever hearing them.

Hercules had never said it. Not once.

Never.

Raleigh had cried himself, then. And Father, quite reasonably, told him he had a choice to make. Save his honor, or continue to allow himself to be abused.

“You are my son, and you are a Becket. I know you have the strength to do the right thing.” 

But Raleigh didn’t mention any of that to his brother. Yancy had always hated their father, quarreled endlessly with him, especially after Mother died and Father, in mourning, took to wandering through the countryside on longer and longer rides, leaving Yancy to manage the country.

And Raleigh had always resented his brother’s hatred. It wasn’t fair. Yancy had always been the elder son, the favored son, the heir and future king. That conversation Raleigh had had with Father had been one of the few in which Father had shown him any concern at all. A conversation where Father actually spoke of his younger son with affection in his voice, been a father instead of a king. 

Selfish as it was, he couldn’t share that with Yancy. He wouldn’t have been able to stand hearing his brother tell him he was wrong, which Yancy would of course do.

“So what did you do when Hercules proposed?”

His anger at himself had carried him through the next day, when Hercules had come to him and made his request. _Will you marry me, darling?_

“I told him, as a prince of the realm, I couldn’t continue to be treated like a stableboy,” Raleigh snapped at his brother, old heartache rising again.

Yancy just nodded, impassive, clearly waiting for him to continue.

But Raleigh could no more tell of that fight than he could their father’s sage counsel.

What Raleigh hadn’t counted on was how much it would hurt, telling Hercules to leave, to get out of his life, to leave him be and stop destroying everything for him. He might have cursed the man to the gods for ruining him. He definitely yelled.

And it hadn’t stopped hurting, not even after Hercules had withdrawn, and left their estate without so much as a goodbye to any of them.

He’d asked Father a few days later if he could mobilize with the regimen that was being sent out. He was due to serve his military time anyway; it seemed as good a time as any, and Father had agreed.

“I was such a fool,” he said at length, shaking his head. “I never should have trusted him.”

“You had no reason not to trust him,” Yancy said, kindly. “He practically raised us. Loves us more than Father ever did, even if he is shit at showing it. Hercules is... wait, Raleigh, what did I say?”

But he couldn’t answer, overcome with emotion at the mere mention of that word, that single little word, that tiny thing whose absence had once broken apart his entire world. Instead, he stood, tossing his napkin down atop his untouched food. “I need to dress for the day,” he said, voice hoarse, and fled to the bedroom.

Jazmine, Mako, and the little one had joined Yancy by the time Raleigh emerged again, feeling bare in his light summer linen, without an ounce of armor to his body. Still, his niece ran to him, tugging at his pants, demanding to be picked up, and he couldn’t feel sad, not with her in his arms. 

“Are you alright, brother?” Yancy asked, and tugged on his daughter’s foot. The little girl giggled, and Raleigh hefted her higher. 

The past was the past, he decided then, and he could not let it continue to affect his family now. Yancy was right, he had almost gotten himself killed over it, his stupid infatuation with a man who had never truly returned his feelings. It was time to stop letting it destroy his life.

If he could just get through the next week of the tournament, he would be on his way home. 

He would never have to see Hercules again.

“I’m quite alright, Yancy. Perfectly fine.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know when a fic gets away from you? This one is getting away from me.

Yancy found Raleigh exactly where Captain Tendo had said he would be; down on the field, in one of the breezy pavilions erected by the younger knights whose rowdy ways were ill tolerated by the better inns. 

It was a place of revelry, lit by an army of paper lanterns and glass storm candles, strong wines and ales from a dozen different countries flowing free, laughter and music rising as high as the castle battlements, a gathering place for the fine young nobles and those who wished to curry favor, or simply soak in the festival atmosphere, far from the disapproving eyes of the older lords staying in town. If all within the castle’s arms fell under Hercules’ watchful eye, the pavilion town belonged to Prince Scott - or the spirit of him, exiled as he was - and that was saying something about how the celebrations normally flowed. A party that never ceased until the final trumpets announced the victors. 

Back in his youth, when he was still merely a prince, Yancy had adored it. Now at thirty-one winters, with a throne and family to think of, Yancy saw it through different eyes. Young men, sick in the streets, wild-haired girls with painted faces and the scent of rut clinging to their bodies, yelling and fighting and drunken, boisterous singing breaking the peaceful summer night. But most concerning, of all that he saw on his walk, was the mess his brother had made of himself.

Raleigh, while unable to fight in the tourney, had found himself of a hero to the younger nobles. His record had gotten out; five Kaiju commander kills, including the master scout who had very nearly killed Yancy, and that was before considering the stories spun by the young Anchorage officers about his bravery and courage in general combat. Every time he so much as poked his head out of their rooms, it seemed, there was some awe-struck squire seeking assistance with his technique or advice with his horse.

Yancy had been forced to sit through more than one, over lunch or supper or drinks and dancing up in the more formal events, each more outlandish than the last, his brother obviously demonstrating a complete lack of regard for his own safety and - more alarmingly - that of the men under his command. Less courage, more death wish, it seemed, and it made Yancy ill to think that his brother had so little concern for himself.

He hoped to avoid another that night.

He had not, however, wished to avoid it in this manner. Raleigh was clearly in no state to either tell, confirm, or laugh at the stories being thrown his way, preen under the attention, or accept another tankard of ale from some starry-eyed lass seeking attention she would never truly receive. But this...

“What in all the seven hells, have you bastards been doing with my brother?!” Yancy demanded, not so quietly, of Bruce Gage. 

Possibly with his blade out. Certainly with his hand at the northern lord’s throat, pinning him to the rug-scattered floor, fingers digging mercilessly into his pulse points. For he’d found Raleigh in the man’s lap, out of his mind, the two of them locked in a messy, graceless kiss.

Now his brother was all but unconscious in the Gages’ private grotto of silk and smoke, a dimly lit hell-hole that stank of opium. His body was limp in a pile of pillows, the pipe still suspended between his fingers, the smoldering contents spilled out across his boots, laying where he’d fallen when Yancy ripped Bruce away from him.

“Yance, calm down, we... just... ha-... having a little fun...”

“I had no love for you when I was a prince, and believe me, Gage, I have even less for you as a king.”

But Bruce just put his hands up. He was sodden with drink and smoke, hiccuping. Yancy contemplated, for a few moments, slipping his dagger between his ribs, just to rid himself of the inevitable trouble. The Gage family had given his own no end of trouble, and ending one half of their last set of male heirs was sorely tempting. 

Raleigh, however, was beginning to twitch, and Yancy’s first duty was always to family. Politics could wait; he’d not lose his little brother to his own foolishness. 

“If I see you or your brother within a hundred feet of mine, for the remainder of this tourney, I’ll gut you like a fish,” Yancy warned, knowing it would make no impression, and stepped back, knee down beside Raleigh. “Come, little brother. I’m taking you out of here.”

Watery eyes cracked open, and Raleigh began to speak, but all that issued forth from his mouth was vomit.

Yancy sighed, paying no mind to the now-ruined tunic, taking his brother’s limp weight and pulling him up nonetheless. “You are so lucky you were born second,” he told him, and slung Raleigh’s good arm over his shoulder.

++++

Raleigh wasn’t quite so far gone that he was incapable of walking. His feet seemed to know what they were doing, even if his mind didn’t, and getting him back up to the castle was not as difficult as Yancy had feared. He babbled a little, sleepy words that made no sense, and tried twice to kiss Yancy, which the older Becket merely pushed gently away.

Raleigh protested the second time, and wrapped his arms tighter around Yancy, muttering something that might have been Mako’s native tongue - she’d taken up teaching him, during his recovery, to take his mind off the pain - but it made even less sense than his English.

“You’ve had too much opium tonight,” Yancy told him firmly, and dragged him up the cobblestones with a little less gentleness.

The castle, fortunately, had long since gone to bed, by the time Yancy reached the servants’ entrance in the back courtyard, and he thanked the gods that nobody would see the prince in such disarray. But no sooner had he opened the door than he ran into Charles, who was practically skipping out in a dark robe.

Yancy stumbled back, taking the force of it in the shoulder, and Raleigh spilled out of his arms, into the dirt of the yard.

“Hellfire,” he grumbled to himself, and looked at Charles, who was standing there like he’d just been caught with his hand down his trousers. “Would you give me a hand, brother?”

Charles shook himself, obliging. “Gah, Yancy, he smells like a Sian brothel. Where’s he been?”

“The pavilions,” Yancy grumbled, gathering Raleigh back up, his brother trying to kiss him again, wrapping his arms around his neck with a happy, drugged sigh. “Celebrating himself, no doubt.”

“He has been doing much of that,” Charles agreed, giving Raleigh a disapproving look. “What’s he been at tonight?”

“The opium,” Yancy said, and hefted his brother’s weight around until it was back at his side. “Fucking Gage twins.”

Charles nodded, and glanced longingly over Yancy’s shoulder. “Now, brother, if that’s all you require of me...”

Yancy gave him a sharp look. “Where are you off at anyway, at this hour?”

Charles’ expression immediately became guarded. “Nowhere.”

“Indeed,” Yancy asked, eyebrow raised. He waited exactly a second, and then grabbed the back of Charles’ collar in his free hand, dragging him along as he strode up the steps into the house. “You are off to some tryst with my sister, aren’t you, you little shit?”

“No! Gods, Yancy, let me go...”

“I’ll not have you defiling her before your wedding night like some common whore,” he snapped, feigning anger but secretly delighted. 

Charles’ attempt to punch him for it just delighted him more.

The two of them had been increasingly obvious about their interest in each other, the initial irritations turning to heated passion. Hercules had pointed it out after supper on the second night, whispering to Yancy that his son seemed to have realized that Jazmine was, in fact, a woman. Yancy had been relieved to realize the marriage was not going to be a total disaster - it still could be, but at the least the two of them seemed interested in discovering the contents of each other’s underclothes, which was a good place to start - and thought to encourage it. Hercules had disagreed, pointing out that the more difficult they made it for the two of them, the more likely they’d be to defy.

“By commanding them to stay apart, no doubt they shall fight all the harder to find each other.”

“But there are proprieties, my lord!”

“And my son will follow the ones that matter most,” Hercules had replied, injured. “I worry far more about what your sister might do to him. But even if he seeds her, they will be wed a few days later and none shall be the wiser.”

Yancy had conceded the point. He’d never been wrong before. 

Forbidding them from being alone together, separately lecturing them both sternly about their unseemly behavior towards each other, forcing the most irritating of Charles’ tutors, Doctor Gottlieb, on them as chaperone... indeed, it all seemed to be actually be working quite nicely. 

“You cannot call the lady a whore!” Charles growled, swinging impotently, Yancy holding him out by the scruff like a furious kitten, continuing to march them both through the house to the family’s private suites. “She is beautiful and pure and...and...”

“I thought you had no interest in marriage,” Yancy chuckled, and Raleigh, leaning against him, hugged him tight.

“I’d marry you,” he whispered thickly. “I’d marry you if you but loved me.”

Charles stopped fighting Yancy’s hold and looked to Raleigh, obviously confused. “What’s he on about?”

“It’s the opium."

“Will he be well enough to come to the stands tomorrow? I want him to see me win at swords.”

Yancy rolled his eyes. “I am sure he would not miss a demonstration of your ego, little brother.”

“Good.”

Raleigh cuddled closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too, brother.”

And Raleigh whined, twisting a bit in his hold, clearly trying to go for another kiss. “Why won’t you love me, milord?”

“He does love you, you sodden sack of horseshit,” Charles offered, and shrugged when Yancy glared at him. “What?”

Then, weight shifting far too well for a man who’d been unconscious half a candle mark before, Raleigh pushed Yancy against the wall, in a tight bear hug. “Hercules, please... what must I do?”

And Charles’ expression went from bemused to shocked, twisting away from Yancy’s hold. “Did he just...”

“Let it go, Charles,” Yancy warned, desperately trying to keep his brother contained as he whined and twisted, eyes closed and hands _everywhere_.

But Charles just burst into laughter, loud in the quiet hall, and Yancy reached out to grab him, shut him up, but he just danced away. “Oh, this... he thinks...” and he doubled over, clutching his sides merrily. “How far into it is he, to think he’s in love with Father?”

Relieved, Yancy managed to pin Raleigh’s arms with one hand and stroked the other through the boy’s hair, knowing how much he used to love that as a child. He relaxed instantly, all but purring against his big brother’s chest. “Who knows where the Gages procure that shit, eh?”

Charles snorted, and grinned, backing up. “As you say.”

“Charles! Get back here!” Yancy called, Raleigh twisting a little, distracting him again. “Get back here, or I swear to the gods...”

“Looks like you’ve got your hands, full, brother!” Chuck replied, waving once, and then taking off back down the hall for the stairs, still chuckling.

Raleigh opened his eyes, blinking. “What must I do, Hercules?”

Yancy laid a hand on his cheek. He knew there was no sense in his brother’s mind at the moment, but this was a situation without logic. Perhaps this was the best way of discovering the truth. “He proposed, Raleigh, he proposed. Clearly, he loved you enough to do that. Why did you throw it all away?”

A bad strategy.

For Raleigh started sobbing.

The night had worn well-thin, then, by the time Yancy was able to strip the reeking clothes off his brother’s body and tumble him into bed. Raleigh fell like a sack of potatoes, as he had in the pavilion, and Yancy kicked off his boots to crawl up beside him. He padded around his brother, using a bolster against his back to prop him up on his side and tucking a pillow against his chest to keep him steady. His sobs had continued the entire time, and his face was covered in tears and snot. _Some fine war hero_ , Yancy thought, and immediately felt terrible for it. 

Yancy did not understand this attraction to men, and was not entirely settled with the new, growing thought that the affair with Hercules could be more than mere hero-worship or familial love. Of course, sharing oneself with another man was far from unheard of in the military, but Yancy had always thought that merely a consequence of the environment. He’d done it himself, a few times, back during that two years Father had had him shipped out with the Navy. Although pleasurable, in Yancy's opinion, a man’s body scarce compared to a woman’s. What would be the impetus for carrying on as they had? Was it not enough to love Hercules as a father?

But Raleigh had suffered much, had hurt himself much, was continuing to hurt himself. Even though Yancy did not rightly understand the cause, it pained him to see his brother so aggrieved.

“There, little brother,” he said, and kissed his forehead. “There, that is better, is it not?”

But Raleigh shook his head, and reached for him. “Do not go. Please, Herc... do not leave me again.” 

“He didn't leave you, Raleigh,” he said carefully. “You left him.”

“You never loved me,” Raleigh whispered, and clutched the pillow to his chest. “You dishonored me and used me. Father said so...”

And rage boiled hot in Yancy’s blood, the shards of his understanding coming together like molten metal in a blacksmith’s forge.

That scheming, vicious, _evil_...

“Sleep, Raleigh,” he murmured, and kissed his brother’s forehead again, stepping back to pull the sheets up around him. “Sleep, and think no more of this tonight.”

Raleigh just started crying again.

Fucking opium. 

Fucking Richard.

+++++

Yancy attempted to be quiet, slipping from his brother’s room to his own, closing both sets of doors that opened into the shared little parlor, but Mako, his beautiful Mako, stirred the second the lock clicked into place.

“You are very late, husband,” she murmured into the moonlit darkness.

The king began stripping off his ruined clothing, dropping it in a pile in the corner for the servants. “It took me long to find my brother.”

“But you did, you found him?”

“Yes. He sleeps comfortably next door,” he said, waving a hand, and sat down to pull off his socks. “He is far gone on opium, though, so who knows what state he shall be in come morning?”

“Opium is quite pleasurable,” she said with a yawn, stretching a little. Her dark hair was falling out of its nighttime plaits, the fine strands framing her face. “Takes you into the lands of dreams and desires.”

He smiled at her and got up, padding naked back over to the bed. “Truly?” he asked, trailing soft fingers down her face.

“Indeed, my lord,” she replied with a smile.

“I could swear this chamber is already that place,” he whispered softly, sliding his fingers around into her hair, pulling her up almost to kneeling, and kissed her. “With you here, my love.”

"Do you dream of me?"

"I dreamed of you before we met."

She smiled wide, but did not tease him, as he had the first time he’d attempted to communicate the depth of his feelings for her, a quiet moment snatched in the gardens, two days after his arrival on Hong Kong. _You barely know me, my silly boy,_ she’d admonished, but her eyes had glowed at the praise. 

Mako had flirted as much as he had, women of her small nation bold instead of coy, as the women of his lands were. She had even gone as far as to offer herself to him, on the eve of the treaty signing, coming to his room in sky-blue silk, telling him she wished him to be her first. 

Yancy had been stunned. Shocked, perhaps, was a better reaction, and she’d almost slapped him on her way out, tears in her eyes as she pulled her kimono back up around her pale shoulders. It was only by the barest margin that he had coaxed her back, bidding her to sit with him, apologizing for his lack of understanding of her people and her ways. Over a cup of tea, she had offered him a halting explanation, as best she could.

The people of Hong Kong elected their Lord Governor; she was the adopted daughter of a man who had, before his ascension, been a mere Captain in the military. He had purchased her for the cost of a filly, from a family much disappointed in their only son’s inability to produce a male heir. They had sold then-Captain Pentecost Mako’s mother as well, but the poor woman had died not long after of her injuries. Pentecost had raised Mako on his own.

“Do you view yourself a slave, then?” he’d asked softly, heart breaking for her.

“No, not at all, Prince. I view myself as I am, my own.” She’d cocked her head. “Do the women in your lands see themselves differently?”

“They are cared for by their fathers, their husbands. The men who love them,” he’d explained softly. “If I was your father, I would never allow a man to hurt you by laying with you once and then sailing away, never to see you again. I should kill him for such an offense. You deserve so much more.”

“My father cares for me, yes, and someday, my husband shall own my very life, as is the way of things here,” she replied, fresh tears in her eyes. “But my body is mine, and I do with it as I will. If I offended you, by asking you to please me in the way I wish to be pleased...”

“I would very much like to please you, milady, to partake of your sweetness, but I shall not take advantage of you.”

And she’d stared at him for a moment, mouth open, before taking his face in his hands. “You do not understand me, Yancy Becket. It is I who wish to take advantage of you.”

He’d kissed her then, and sent her back to her own room laughing, and asked the governor for her hand, first thing in the morning.

“Are you looking for more favorable conditions in the treaty, Prince?” Lord Pentecost had rumbled.

“No, not at all. Take anything you wish from me, Lord Governor, I care for it not. But I shall someday, soon, be king, and your daughter has the strength and beauty of a queen. I desire only to give her what is already hers.”

“A finer offer none could make,” Pentecost agreed, and fixed him with a hard glare. “But do you love her?”

“Desperately.”

For a moment, Mako let him kiss her, sweet and slow, and he barely noticed the way her hands were sliding around his arms. And then he was on his back, tumbled about, and she on top, small firm breasts pressed to the firm muscle of his chest. 

“And you mine, my lord,” she murmured in his ear.

Yancy let his hands roam, relishing the milky sweetness of her flesh, fingers playing across the stretch marks on her side, the silky texture of the scars from childbearing sliding easily beneath his calloused hands, before slipping down into her jade gate. Her honey was already dripping, and he kissed her again, swallowing her moan as he played gently with the little pearl there. 

Far away, a thought formed; how Raleigh could live without this, the feel of a woman in his arms and in his bed, and Yancy couldn’t avoid the possibility that perhaps, how he felt about Mako was how Raleigh felt about Hercules...

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, cock going flaccid at the unwanted images, and Mako slipped rolled off to the side, fingers soft on his chest.

“Something wrong, husband?”

“My brother,” he groaned. “If I tell you, will you promise not to hate him for it?”

She clucked at him. “He is the brother I never had. There is nothing that could make me hate him.”

Yancy nodded, unsure of how to say it. “He... before he went off to the war, he was engaged in... he and King Hercules...”

Mako frowned, and then her lips formed a little ‘o’ as the realization hit her. “They were lovers.”

Yancy cringed a little. “Yes, I suppose that would be the word.”

And she slapped him gently. “Why would that make me hate him?”

“Are such things common on the isle of Hong Kong?” he asked, and at her pitying expression, he just groaned. “Of course they are.”

“Not common, but known. Shameful on the street, but much enjoyed in the bedchamber,” she said with a shrug. “And my father, he...”

“Truly? The Lord Governor?”

“So he once told me.” And she nodded, thoughtful. “Once, with a man he served with in the military. He never told me who, though.”

Yancy rubbed a hand across his face. “It’s all such a bloody mess.”

“Is this why your brother has been...”

“...smoking opium with known enemies of the kingdom? Yes, I suppose it is.” Yancy sighed. “I never got the whole story out of them, but apparently, Father caught them, Hercules proposed marriage, Raleigh threw a fit, turned him down, and tried to go kill himself in the Army.”

She hummed a little. “You do not know why your brother turned him down?”

“I suspect my father played them. Hercules claims Richard gave permission, and yet Raleigh, tonight, intimated that Richard told him Hercules was merely abusing him.” He snorted. “Was it not enough for the man to simply forbid the union?”

“Of course it would not have been good enough,” Mako murmured and kissed his neck absently. “He would have needed to ensure that they did not do something behind his back, such as eloping to these lands and marrying here. He could not destroy love, but he could create hate. Make the space for them to end the relationship on their own.” She kissed him again. “It is what I would do.”

He glanced down at her. “Remind me never to anger you, my love.”

Mako smiled winsomely, gladly accepting the praise. “Besides, it is what he tried with us too, remember? When he told me that I was destroying your reputation and your authority as king?”

“Yes, and that disgusting rant to me about how our children would be half-breed mongrels, and any son you produced unfit to govern honest Alaskans.” Yancy laid a protective hand on Mako’s belly, remembering. They’d come to blows over that, and he’d very nearly killed the evil old bastard for it. Richard had only ever regarded his three children as objects of utility. An heir, a spare, and a bargaining chip. That’s all they’d ever been to him, and Yancy defying both tradition and aristocratic decency to marry a commoner of another race had sent their father over the edge. 

There had been a number of years where Yancy had genuinely feared Richard might have Mako killed. It was part of the reason he’d done everything he could to ensure she not get pregnant until after the bastard was dead.

He wondered, for the first time, if that might have been part of the reason Richard had worked so hard to keep Raleigh from Hercules, and why his approach had been so more subtle.

She touched his face gently, and laid a hand over his in unvoiced understanding. Yancy delighted in his daughter, the dark-haired little girl with blue eyes and her grandmother’s name, but he could not deny his longing for a son. An heir would secure Mako’s place, and his, against even the most vocal critics. He had tried hard not to say anything to her, given her own painful history, but she knew. It was one of the things he loved about her. She knew everything.

“And the two of them will not speak about this?” she prompted gently.

“Hercules speaks little more than he has to, and even then, often not enough and always in a taciturn manner. He has been like that since before the Kaiju killed his family. And Raleigh... you can see how Raleigh is handling this.”

“It explains much, about how they will not be in the same room with each other, all the pained silences at meals.” She nodded again, and laid her head on his shoulder, eyes drifting closed. “We must get them to speak to each other.”

“We must? We must do nothing, my darling. Raleigh’s a grown man, as he keeps insisting to me, no longer a little boy in need of his big brother’s protection. He must figure this out on his own.”

“Except he is terrible at it,” Mako replied.

“Mako, my love, do not get involved.”

“Of course not,” she said with complete insincerity.

“This is a request, and a warning. I cannot risk breaking a five hundred year alliance. Hercules banished his own brother four years ago, over some argument neither of them can rightly remember. Who knows what he might do, if he suspected I be manipulating him on behalf of my little brother?”

Mako laid an arm across him, cuddling in. “Do not fret so. I am sure the gods will look after them,” she told with him with a sleepy, satisfied yawn.

“Do nothing, Mako.”

“Of course, my husband. Of course.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was a fine morning, cooler than usual for the season, storm clouds gathering in the mountain peaks but as yet offering nothing but a sweet breeze from the heights. It snapped banners and ruffled skirts, tumbling straw from the stables across the fields. A good day to end on, Hercules thought to himself, watching the sky beyond the edge of the tournament stables, Charles tending to Striker beside him, Max, the boy’s old childhood dog, curled up asleep at his feet. Today, the conclusion of the games, the wedding tomorrow, and the day after...

He did not want to think about the day after. When Raleigh would most likely depart, headed for his own lands. The thought of losing his boy again made Hercules’ heart ache. Raleigh had not spoken to him since that night in the grotto, had barely stayed in the same room with him longer than the time it took to excuse himself from whoever else was there with them. It was maddening, and desperately rude, to treat the king so in his own house, but Hercules knew not what to do.

What had he done?

He could not fathom it.

He had only ever treated the boy with respect, cared for him, even before he had acted on what he had assumed was a mutual attraction. Respect and love. That was how he treated the boy, through the whole of their affair, kept every promise he’d ever made, risked far more than was prudent, than was _sane_ , just to be with him. 

He had thought Raleigh loved him as well.

He had thought...

“May I trouble you for a favor, King?”

It was Queen Mako, Yancy’s bride, Stacker’s daughter, the woman who was inspiring both hatred and envy amongst all the other ladies at the tournament, gliding above it all in her ethereal Eastern silks with a detached, careless interest. Hercules did not care much for court gossip - did not care much for the pettiness of young women in general - but the rumors of his own ladies ordering copies of her dresses amused him nonetheless. 

“Of course, lady,” Hercules said with a slight bow, a real smile on his lips as he came over. “How can I refuse the daughter of my oldest friend?”

She nodded. “My gratitude. My daughter, little Dominique, has wandered off, I am afraid, and I cannot find her. Perhaps your hound can sniff her out?”

That was another thing Hercules loved about Mako; she nursed her own child, allowing a nurse only grudgingly. It was a rarity among noblewomen.

“Max is hardly my best tracker,” Hercules said, looking back at his son. 

Charles had stopped for a moment, crouched down, scratching the dog’s wrinkles. Max had been a gift from one of the other kingdoms whose nobles favored such ornamental beasts, the prince regent himself delivering it, with all the queen’s sympathies. A strong boy, Charles had kept his chin up, never cried, not even at the funeral, but Hercules had worried about him. The dog may have been a useless little thing, too small for hunting and too ungainly for herding, but Charles had clung to him like a lifeline. Hercules suspected that dog knew more about his son than he himself did.

But Max had always been good with children, and he had always been able to find Charles, and Mako’s lower lip was starting to tremble, and...

Hellfire.

Hercules never had been able to tell a beautiful woman ‘no’.

“Do you have something of hers?”

Dabbing her eyes lightly, Mako held out a small swaddle blanket. Hercules bowed to her, taking his leave.

He snapped his fingers at Max - Charles had at least trained him well - and Max obediently waddled over. “We’ve a sprog to find,” Hercules murmured to the dog, taking a knee beside him. 

Max, dependable little thing that he was, sniffed it and immediately put his nose to ground.

“Thank you, my king,” Mako whispered, and Hercules was about to tell her how very welcome she was, when Charles looked up from his tack to notice his dog was no longer sleeping beside the bucket.

“Oi, you cannot take my Max!” Charles hollered after his father. “He’s here to watch me win today!”

“I shall have him back to you before you take the sands,” Hercules yelled back, and followed after the trundling little beast.

Max was far from the fastest dog in Hercules’ kennels, but he was remarkably efficient with those wee legs of his, and it was no simple task, keeping up with him. The dog wove in and out of the throng, cutting between tents and stands and the knights preparing for the morning’s combat, trotting here, weaving back there, until Hercules finally found himself on the edge of Scott’s old haunts, the pavilion city.

And there, in front of the smaller places that served food al fresco, he found the little girl, playing at her uncle’s knees, the only two people on the pleasant little patio.

Raleigh stared at him, clearly startled, only moving when Max waddled over to snuffle at the girl. She giggled in delight at the doggy, toddling over to better pull at his ears.

“The queen was looking for her child,” Hercules began. “But if she be here with you...”

The young man just shook his head and stood, scooping up his niece in one smooth movement. “I did not realize,” he said stiffly. “I should take her back to her mother. King, excuse me.”

And Hercules moved in front on him, blocking him from the edge of the dirt byway that led back to the stands. “Raleigh...”

“Step aside, sire.”

But Hercules didn’t budge. “No.”

“Sire...”

“I have had enough of your silence. You skulk about my house, eat my food, drink my wine, talk with my family, and yet you will not so much as look at me.”

Raleigh clenched his jaw. “Always, this is about you. That is why. Now please, remove yourself from my path.”

“About me? About _me_?” Hercules hissed. “Everything I did, I did for you.”

“You did nothing for me!” Raleigh replied, heated, bouncing his niece a little as she tried to escape, fat little hands reaching desperately for Max Max. She was having none of it, though, and he finally gave up and set her back down. “You lied to me, you lied to me about everything!”

“Lie? What lies? I never lied to you!” 

“You told me you’d marry me!” Raleigh said, clearly only barely holding in his rage. “That you would marry me and bring me home, here, with you!”

“And I asked you, you fucking child!”

Raleigh’s face hardened. “Yes, I know. That’s all I was to you.”

“Bloody hell, what are you talking about?”

“What good is such a proposal to a prince whose king has already said no?” Raleigh demanded. “Why should I have accepted something my father must have denied, and denied for good reason? You wouldn’t have honored the vows! You’d have discarded me as soon as I grew... grew into this!” He waved a hand down his body, which indeed, had thickened and deepened, dense muscle replacing the boyish frame, scruff were smooth skin had once been, his hair darker and shorter than it had been in those days. 

He was still beautiful, though. More. for he had gone out into the dark places of the world, and survived, and Hercules loved him all the more for his strength. 

“Your appearance still pleases me much,” Hercules said softly. “

Raleigh glowered. “You would have thrown me aside once I was no longer some boy you could control!”

Hercules could hardly believe those words, darkness building in his heart. “What did you say?”

“My father explained it to me! He explained everything!”

“Your father lied to you.”

“My father was protecting me, from you, and I thank his memory for the favor!” Raleigh snapped, and pulled his niece back into his arms. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, _my lord_ , my queen is quite likely frantic for her daughter. Good day.”

Even as the anger overtook his common sense, Hercules could see the answer. He could see it so clearly. Richard had lied to him, lied to Raleigh, lied to them both. The kind old friend who’d allowed himself to be swayed had been a front, as had whatever mask had spoken to Raleigh. Richard had poisoned his love’s mind, turned Raleigh against, told him terrible falsehoods, broken his heart.

And before he could stop himself, Hercules grabbed Raleigh by the elbow, jerking him back inside the shade of the small cafe’s overhanging canopy. “You father could not have been more wrong.”

Raleigh shoved him off, glaring. “Then tell me it was a lie. Tell me you asked him for his blessing and he gave it.”

“He did.”

“Tell me you asked because you wanted me by your side, not merely something sweet to warm your bed.”

“Of course I wanted you with me.”

Those blue eyes narrowed. “Tell me you loved me.”

The words were insulting, and hit the king like a bolt from a crossbow. Hercules regarded him coolly. “You know I do.”

“Say it. I want to hear you say the words.”

“I have nothing to prove to you. You are the one who has wrongly thought ill of me all these years and you make such demands? What of what you owe me?”

“Tell me, Herc,” Raleigh said, using the old endearment, and he sounded more like himself. Sweet, almost scared. “Tell me this is all some terrible nightmare of mine, that you asked for me and were granted my hand and took me home and now I lay naked out in the sunny peach orchards whenever I wish, waiting for my husband.” 

Hercules swallowed. “That, Raleigh, I cannot do.”

“Aye. I know,” Raleigh replied quietly, regret in those two little words, and pushed forward.

Stepping aside, Hercules was unsure of what he could say, if there was any way... and he grabbed Raleigh’s arm again.

“You must understand,” Hercules said softly, Raleigh’s fury boring into him. “Your father...”

But he didn’t get to finish that sentence.

Trumpets broke the air, loud and long and...

Anyone alive knew those trumpets.

Anyone who'd ever served at the front knew what that signal meant.

“The Kaiju are issuing a challenge. Single combat,” Hercules breathed. "Bloody hell."

Raleigh went gray. “They’re here for me.”

"Take your niece, run to the castle. It's only a league..."

"They're here for me," Raleigh repeated, sounding stronger, sounding almost _relieved_ , and there was something in those quiet words that broke Hercules' heart. He sighed, face into the wind, to the west, where the Kaiju had no doubt coming from. They always came from the east, the sea. Evil fuckers. "You know they are."

"We know nothing," Hercules snapped, fear spiking in his blood, ears trained to trumpets. The fuckers were fiercely clannish, highly tribal, and nomads of the seas; kill the chieftan of a force, and the rest retreated. Their language was nearly indecipherable, and none rightly knew from which island in the Pacific they came, but this was a pattern noticed early on. Raleigh had been particularly effective at such encounters; he had one of the highest kill counts in the war, and the most recent commander's head had been taken by him. "So you will take your niece and get her to safety."

But before they could settle the quarrel themselves, the sound of clanking armor filled the air, and Hercules only barely managed to drag both man and child backwards, into the safety of the shadows, the Kaiju forces sweeping up through the center of the ephemeral city, riding on those twisted beasts of theirs, metal armor pitted from battle and sword. A huge and brutish people, the man at their front had to be at least seven feet tall, if he was an inch, his face streaked with that blue warpaint that glowed the same color as their poisoned blades.

The trumpets blew again.

The company passed from sight. Headed straight for the stands.

"That's an entire ship's compliment," Raleigh whispered.

"I see that," Herc replied tersely.

Raleigh looked down at his niece, the little girl with his mother’s name. Hercules touched her hair. She was too young to be scared, too young to know what the Kaiju warriors did to children like her, but she clearly knew something was wrong, her pale face flushed and her thumb deep in her mouth.

Wordlessly, her uncle kissed her once, and detangled her from his body, passing her little form to Hercules. 

“Raleigh,” Hercules began, his whisper low. “You cannot properly hold a broadsword. They will kill you.”

“Calvary sabers are one-handed. It was my left side that was injured. My right is quite sound.”

“And such blades do not have the force to penetrate that armor. You know this, be sensible.”

“I am being sensible. They will kill too many before we can stop them, if Charles orders an attack now, and you know he will.”

“Which is why you need to let me go to him.”

“The challenge is for me. I shall accept it.”

“They will kill you and attack anyway. They have no honor that will be satisfied with your death.”

“No,” Raleigh agreed, and laid a hand on Hercules’ chest. “But they will not attack until it is over. It will buy time for the home guard to arrive. Those trumpets will have sounded across the entire valley. They have heard it at the keep.”

“I will not see you fall, Raleigh Becket. I will not have it, not in my lands," Hercules said, desperate.

“I should be so lucky,” Raleigh said, “that all to be done is fall.”

Hercules grabbed him, before he could step out of the safety of the small shop. There were so many things he wished to say, so many things he could not, even now, find the voice for.

But - bless him - the boy seemed to understand, for Raleigh cupped his cheek, smiling just a little. “I cannot speak to your feelings, but I can my own. My heart died the day you left me behind, my king, and every day since has been an agony. Long have I desired to be released from the pain of loving a man who does not love me in return. If today be the day that I am freed of it all, I have no quarrel.” He leaned in, kissing Hercules’ unmoving mouth gently, resisting the urge to wrap himself around his former lover and try to force a reaction. Hercules may as well have been carven from the granite of the Blue Mountains behind them. “Take care of my family, as you always have. ”

+++++

If Raleigh had expected a reaction, Hercules gave none. The king simply let him step back, eyes red and nothing spoken. Raleigh felt his heart shattering anew, as he stepped out of the shadows, out into the morning sun, into whatever awaited him.

What else could he do?

Hercules might have been able to understand the raw meaning of the horns, but Raleigh had spent years listening to them; he knew their meaning, and he heard his own name there, the name they'd given him. The knight from the snowy northwestern coasts, the white prince. They were calling for his death, and they knew he was listening, and they knew he could understand.

Sometimes, Raleigh could have sworn the bastards were psychic.

But he begrudged them this not. He had killed many of them, without regret, and as the years worn on, without thought.

And in a way, a very strange way, he felt light. Open. Sins confessed, mortal ties surrendered, love... his love spoken, even if Hercules had not reciprocated. Could not, would not.

There was no more doubt in his mind.

Hercules did not love him, not as Raleigh loved him.

It was liberating. 

He was free, now, to meet the gods on their own terms.

He was free.

Wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to do this... but Raleigh's not getting off that easy, so...
> 
> I'm working on getting it done, promise!


	5. Chapter 5

It proved no difficulty, then, to slip past the Kaiju warriors, spreading out through the place, herding all people towards the same location. It made his blood boil, to see them in this peaceful lands, far from the horrors of the front, being subjected to this sort of indignity.

The place had been taken completely by surprise. And that drove Raleigh's temper even higher. Where were the kingdom's advance scouts? What of the patrols that followed the edges of these lands, to prevent exactly this from happening?

But several of the Kaiju warriors held weapons black with dried blood; Raleigh realized with a chill who it must have come from. If Hercules had received no word of this incursion, this deep into his territory, more than likely, anyone who'd crossed their path had been slaughtered.

The area around the central arena was dreadfully crowded, more people being driven in by the second, the threat of violent coercion obviously hanging over them. It was still early. No doubt most of the men had been caught unawares, most unarmed and many only half-dressed. The Kaiju had even drug women from the tents. Noble ladies and whores alike were clustered around the ring, shirking away from the barbarians at the edges.

And there, in the center of the arena, Charles was stood, sword out and making no effort to hide his contempt for the men in front of him. At his side was Doctor Geiszler, brought from Anchorage for the tourney. No doubt he’d offered the prince his services. Geiszler had become deeply fascinated with the Kaiju's native tongue. So many years of tending to the war's casualties, he'd told Raleigh, had ignited his curiosity about the things they'd been fighting.

"Why do they speak with few words, but many noises?" he had asked Raleigh, a few days after Raleigh had returned home.

"They are beasts."

"Beasts, yes, but they are men, underneath all that shark leather and bronze plate and filth. I've done autopsies of a few, with your father's permission of course, and they seem to be built the same as us. Surely, if they are human, they can speak."

Raleigh had barely kept himself from hitting the man. One of the more regrettable aspects of the war, learned early on by the kingdoms of the Pacific, was that the Kaiju had no understanding of their laws of war. Captives almost invariably killed themselves within a few days of being seized. More than a few had starved themselves to death in the dungeons before it was decided that showing them mercy only led to more suffering. 

"Perhaps," he'd said instead, "they can carry their fell commands further with trumpet than human voice."

"A hunting language," Geiszler had mused, and snapped his fingers. "I am told you can understand it."

"Partially. I hear it and observe what happens."

"You must tell me everything."

Geiszler was no pacificist - he had lost family, as had everyone - but he did seem to be of the opinion that if a common tongue could be found, understanding would follow. Perhaps a peace accord would be possible, he'd always insisted, or at least, determining what it was that the Kaiju wanted from them. The bastards burned the cities they captured and killed the people they found there. No rapes, no looting, no slaves taken. The entire thing was confounding.

Raleigh had no idea why they were here, of all places, today of all days. Perhaps they understood the meaning of the tournament and wished, in some twisted way, to participate. Perhaps they were simply pushing further inland; the Kingdom of Sydney was further south and west than Anchorage, the land route easier and safer than the stormy sea lanes and exposed coastal plains. The Kaiju had not yet managed to land a craft near enough to Yancy's gates for their usual tactics to prove effective. So perhaps they were just after him, but how would they know he was here? How would they know anything about it at all?

But thoughts were distractions, and Raleigh put it aside. Let the historians and scholars figure out the answers to such questions.

He had a Kaiju commander to kill.

The horns had not stopped blowing since the first Raleigh and Herc heard them, the challenge for single combat carried in them. Raleigh could clearly see the chief herald now, a twisted horn of some massive, unknown animal held to his lips and pointed at the sky. Yet the moment Raleigh’s boot hit the sand, all went silent.

All eyes went to him.

It was highly disconcerting.

Almost as disconcerting as realizing his family was amongst them, being prodded out unarmed into the royal box that overlooked the entire ring. Mako had Dominique in her arms, the little one’s head clutched to her shoulder. Yancy had his arm around her; Hercules was staring at the Kaiju guard behind them; Jazmine was nowhere to be seen.

Raleigh kept down his bile down, striding out across the sand and sawdust towards Charles. The host before the younger prince gave a loud roar, weapons banging on shields, and Charles tensed.

"Calm yourself," Raleigh said, leaning in close, when he could. "It is but I."

Charles ground his teeth. "What are you doing here?"

"The white prince."

"So?"

"They are asking for me," he replied. To his own ears, he sounded far calmer than he should, given what was facing them. 

"Bullshit. What would they want with you? You cannot even fight anymore."

"You make the mistake of thinking they want a fair fight."

"No such thing, brother. They are not civilized men, with rules of honor." Charles spat. "Beasts from hell, these things are."

"Indeed. But they kill for sport, as we do, and right now, they are on a fox hunt, not a dove shoot. They are intensely hierarchical," Raleigh replied, trying to keep his own anger in check. “If I take out that hulk of a commander, the rest will be easy pickings."

"But you will not be able to..."

“I can buy some time.”

Charles’ jaw clenched, and he looked back towards the stands. “Where's Jazmine?” 

Raleigh couldn’t answer that truthfully, nor did he want to think about it. He needed to be able to focus. “Run off, if we’re lucky, and good thing too."

"Of course, it is not as if her life isn't hanging on the outcome of this, is it? They’ll slaughter the city, too.” 

Raleigh loved the younger man, but he had an exquisite gift for saying exactly the thing to ruin one's day. It seemed even more irritating than usual. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. Now shut up and give me your sword."

Charles passed it over, grudging. "The balance is almost perfect, a few grams heavier in the blade. The blood channel is wider, creates more of a...."

"I remember how to fight with the weapons of your house."

"This is what I had in my saddle, not designed to be used on foot."

Raleigh laid a hand on his shoulder. "Get out of the ring, Charles, before they mark you too. And take the doctor. He is irritating, but he means well.”

For a brief moment, the mask of arrogance slipped. Charles had served his time in the Navy, seen death, dealt it out himself, but to Raleigh, in that moment, he looked as he had the morning he and Hercules had come riding into the castle yard, after Queen Angela was lost; a child, helpless and angry about it.

"Do not die, if you can help it," Charles offered, stepping away and nodding to Geiszler. "The princess would be sad."

Raleigh chuckled, and tested the weight of the weapon in his hand. It was light enough to be wielded one-handed, yes, but he also knew it would not be strong enough to penetrate that armor. However, he found himself wondering if anything could. Most of the Kaiju - especially the leaders - were giants of men, but this had to be the largest Raleigh had even seen, and looked to be wearing enough metal on his massive body to stop a bolt from a siege ballista.

The sword was good.

It had to be.

It had to be true.

For Raleigh barely had the chance to lift it before the first blow fell.

He’d forgotten how hard they could hit.

+++++

“The bloody hell is he doing?” Yancy growled, knuckles turning white on the railing of the royal box.

“What he must,” Hercules replied quietly, even though it hurt him to say it.

“What he must?” Yancy demanded, turning away from the site 

"Raleigh says they're here for him," Hercules said, back aching. One of the Kaiju had knocked him to the ground, almost smashing Dominique in the process. Nothing compared to the beating Raleigh was taking out there on the sands. By the gods, he was getting old. "Said he could hear it in the horns."

"They do have a signal language. My surgeon has been working to decipher it, but..." Yancy groaned. "Raleigh must have been helping him during his convalescence. Fuck...”

“Do you think the doctor was able to understand anything more?”

“I do not know.” Yancy put his weight down on his elbows. 

Down on the sands, Raleigh missed a parry, the sharp blade sliding down his left arm. He made not a single sound. Hercules felt the pain of it in his bones. He glanced back at Mako, who had ensconced herself in the chair furthest from the Kaiju who had ripped them from their pavilion, signaling and receiving his orders through the cruelly broken ram’s horn at his side. Jazmine had managed somehow to slip away. Hercules had not seen the moment of her escape, but he was grateful for it.

Clearly, they had been recognized for who, and what, they were. And while Yancy had not been on the battlefield in years, and Hercules deliberately kept to the same insignia that marked a 

that was something to worry about on a different day.

Dominique was clinging to her tightly, silent - Mako had admonished the little girl in her native tongue, probably something about not showing weakness in front of the family’s enemies. Mako had wrapped herself protectively around her daughter, deep sleeves falling around the girl, nearly obscuring her fully. The lady herself was stone-faced, empty, as stoic as Stacker himself had always been, but Hercules knew his friend well enough to read his daughter; Mako was terrified. For her children, born and unborn, and for herself. A Kaiju had slain her father in front of her.

Below them, Raleigh screamed.

Herc closed his eyes.

Yancy edged closer, voice lower and quieter when he spoke again. “They will kill us when he falls.”

“The garrison will be mobilizing by now,” Hercules replied quietly. 

“You know what I am talking about. We can take this one...”

“Perhaps, but what about the rest? We are too exposed here, others would come, and you know what they would do. I would not see Mako’s blood spilled on these grounds, nor Dominique’s.” 

“But my brother...”

“Son, think. They have us surrounded, at a disadvantage, and no doubt they have already wetted their swords with my soldiers' blood somewhere in the mountain passes," Hercules said quietly in reply. "We needed a distraction."

“You let him go out there.”

"He fed himself to it,” Hercules replied quietly, and nodded at the ring. 

He heard the rustle of silk and then Mako was beside him, carefully holding her daughter’s head into her shoulder, so she would not have to see the sight in front of them. Raleigh had been knocked down again, sword knocked from his hand, and he was scrambling back as fast as he could. The sand beneath him was red. 

“He went down there to die,” Mako said, utterly unemotional, and laid a hand over Yancy’s. “It is a good death, my husband.”

Yancy looked up, disbelief on his face, and anger. “I will pretend, for the sake of our marriage, that I did not just hear those words leave my wife’s mouth.”

Mako bit her lip, and looked at Hercules. “My lord, surely...”

“I have no desire to watch him die,” Hercules replied softly, and winced, Raleigh only barely missing a killing stroke, kicking out as he grabbed his sword again. He swung, off balance, but caught the Kaiju across the leg, through a weak spot behind the grieves. “But if he did not see it as his preference, I could respect it.”

Yancy’s eyes were red. “He loved you,” he whispered. “He loved you, and our father lied to him about your intentions, to keep you from him.”

Hercules shook his head. He had not felt this helpless in many years, not since the news was brought to him that his wife and children had been slain and their bodies dishonored by these fucking demons from the sea. He had been unable to save his first love; he was unable to save his last. His kingdom, his family, and his lover, all in one day. How could he have failed more utterly? “I never could...” he began.

And was cut off, by an all-too familiar shriek.

“Sister! I have it!”

Everything, then, happened very fast and at once. Jazmine, squirming up through a small gap of loosened boards in the floor of the platform, ripping her dress and dragging a leather-wrapped package up in front of her. The Kaiju, making right for her. Yancy, leaping over, tearing a knife off the Kaiju’s lower thigh and driving it up into his body. Mako, thrusting Dominique once again into a stunned Hercules’ arms as she dove for that package. Everyone was yelling - Yancy at his sister, Mako at Hercules, the Kaiju at his comrades downstairs.

Yancy tore the knife through the Kaiju’s thigh, arterial blood spraying out like mist from a wavebreak, just as Mako scrambled back to the edge of the railing. Her dress was soaked, but she paid it no heed, fingers shaking as she fought off the bindings of the package.

“They come,” Hercules warned her, watching a few of the brutes peel off from guard duty down below. Raleigh was back on his feet, holding fast, but clearly hurting, stumbling. Wouldn’t be long now. Hercules could hardly breathe. “What is this?”

“You want to wax poetic about how much you love him,” Mako snapped as she worked, “while I think of a way to save him. And yet you men regard yourselves the rational sex.”

He ignored the barb. Behind him, Yancy kicked the half-dead Kaiju’s sword away, yanked the head up by lank hair, and delivered the mortal blow, the knife sliding in under the jaw and exiting out the head. Jazmine, below, was screaming. 

“What is that?”

“My Lord Governor sought long for this,” she said and yanked it free. She almost fell back, the polished curve of a indigo scabbard in hand, fingers squeezing. Mako looked at Hercules, taking a deep breath, and then smiled. “My father’s final masterpiece.”

And she threw it towards Raleigh. A hard throw, with the strength of desperation behind it.

“Raleigh!” she screamed after it.

Raleigh looked up, and in so doing, took a kick to the chest that sent him flying.

+++++

Death was close.

Raleigh had been a soldier long enough to know that.

His left arm, weak as it normally was, was now almost completely dead, the pain and blood loss of the multiple wounds he’d sustained along its length leaving the mere act of standing - much less fighting - virtually impossible. He’d gotten a few good blows in at the beginning, held his own for a while, and had almost hoped. His heart wasn’t in the fight, though. Not even the brief glimpse of Mako with Dominique in her arms had been enough to kindle a fire in his heart, and Raleigh knew how important that was to survival.

If a man didn’t wish to live through a fight, he wouldn’t.

And logically, Raleigh knew he had stepped into the arena to end it, let it be over, but still he pressed on, driving the Kaiju back, been beaten back down, evading, parrying, landing what damage he could against the armored behemoth. 

As if from a very far distance, he could feel the eyes of the crowd on him.

They mattered little.

Hercules, up in the box, refusing to even look at him...

He could almost smell the Kaiju chieftain’s next move. He wasn’t sure 

But then Raleigh saw the lightning-blue scabbard, falling from the sky. He’d seen it once, a gift for Charles on his wedding day. 

He knew the quality of blade that lay within.

Mako had enlisted his help in sourcing materials to rebuild both scabbard and hilt, crafting it herself.

“Is it suitable for a brother?” she had asked him, the final work laid across the blankets of his sick bed. 

“Sister, this is suitable for a king.”

He’d been able to close his left hand around it. He’d been able to draw it. 

She’d shown him to draw it.

The Kaiju’s foot caught him square in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs and driving him back, but Raleigh’s body knew what that sword meant; instinct and a life-time of combat drove him forward. 

A roll, duck, mad scramble, and he caught it, left fingers not so much gripping it as providing a space through which to slide, the end embedding deep in the wet earth. No time to think, hardly time to react. The Kaiju was upon him, close, too close, no range for a proper draw, but...

Mako had shown him what the draw could do.

Raleigh didn’t hesitate. He swept the blade free with his right hand, cutting up with every ounce of strength he had left.

It split the Kaiju hip to shoulder, Eastern metal slicing armor and bone and flesh as if it was so much butter.

The force of it, though, took everything Raleigh had left in reserve; he was barely able to avoid the body as it fell, its weapon slipping from its hand, armor sliding apart to crash in the sand around him, guts and gore spilling out. He found himself unable to sit up, energy utterly gone. He lay on his back, panting up at the sky, hair thick with congealing blood and bits of offal. Beyond him, there was yelling, screaming, the sound of metal clashing against metal, but he just blinked up into the sunny blue above him.

He was alive. 

He was still alive.

Raleigh suddenly felt very, very weak, the world graying to nothing at its edges.

Perhaps the gods would have mercy on him after all. Bring him home to Hades. He’d done everything he could do, given everything he had. Why could it not simply be over?

Before he passed out completely though, a small hand fitted into his, sweet perfume and cherry-painted silks falling over him. Mako, speaking, but he couldn’t hear her.

As much as he wanted to close his eyes, pray, let it all go, he held onto her as long as he could. Until the world fell to blackness.

+++++

Hercules stared down at the sands, the Kaiju commander eviscerated, Raleigh collapsed in the mess. Outside, pandemonium reigned, the sounding of horns being met by the closing notes of the garrison bugles, people screaming, some running for cover and others weapons, the enemy force dissolving like an ant colony whose queen had been slain. But all Hercules could hear, think, feel, was the question pounding between his ears.

_Is he dead, did he die, is my boy dead, Raleigh, my boy..._

It must have shown on his face. For Yancy, looking up from where he was trying to comfort his sister, who had been right below the Kaiju when her older brother had dispatched it, shot Hercules a warning look. 

“Hercules, the men...”

“Hang the men,” Hercules snapped, and yanked the door open.

Only to have another dead Kaiju fall in on him, dagger sticking out of its throat, his grinning idiot of a son standing behind it, preening.

“Brought your sword, Father,” Charles said and held it out. 

“About damn time you did something useful today,” Hercules growled, and took it. Charles stepped over the body, yanked out his dagger with a smooth movement, and wiped it clean before resheathing it. The hilt felt good in his hand, and he knew Yancy’s warning to be correct.

If Raleigh was dead, or beyond help, then there was nothing for Hercules to do. And Hercules could not abandon his people for a corpse, no matter how precious its soul was to him.

“What about Yancy’s?” he asked Charles, slipping effortlessly into that command role.

“I brought his too.”

Yancy rose, took it gratefully, patting Charles on the shoulder silently, and went racing downstairs. Mako tore the knife from the Kaiju’s head, and followed with no less speed. Charles opened his mouth to say something, but Hercules just nodded over his shoulder, at where Dominique was crawling into her aunt’s lap. Jazmine was wiping at her own cheeks as she tried to comfort the child, the dead Kaiju’s blood dripping off her skin onto her ruined dress as it mixed with her tears.

Charles was at her side in a flash, fussing and stroking her hair and cleaning her face, her tears turning to a happy little smirk. Hercules rolled his eyes. No doubt it would soon end with him saying the wrong thing and Jazmine punching him and Charles leaving her to go kill something - the boy was still young enough to think it sport. For the moment, Hercules merely satisfied himself with the knowledge that the future of his house was secured, and took his leave.

It really was a quite pleasant day for killing Kaiju.


	6. Chapter 6

It took Raleigh two days to wake.

Hercules did not leave his side the entire time.

There were many things he knew he should say to the boy. So many things. Apologies to be spoken, love to be confessed, properly this time, no matter how painful it was putting such things into words in this collapsing world of theirs. But when Raleigh’s eyes fluttered open, that blue waking to the world again, Hercules found himself mute.

He merely kissed the boy’s forehead, and whispered that he was fetching the doctor.

The next time Hercules saw him was at Charles’ and Jazmine’s wedding, five days on.

It was perhaps unseemly, holding a wedding so close to the battle. But the right prayers were said over the graves of the slain, the right curses laid on the pyres of the Kaiju, the blood scrubbed from the land by a thunderstorm sent by the lightning gods themselves, and the people needed something happy, after all that pain. Oh certainly, many of the nobles, especially the younger ones - Charles among them - had found the entire affair quite acceptable, even preferable, and most had declared the games one of the best in recent memory. Hercules was no longer young, though, and even though only a handful of people had died in the fighting, a miracle compared to the hundreds of Kaiju that were slain, he could find little comfort in it.

Perhaps the king needed the wedding more for himself. A reminder that life went on. That the Kaiju had not yet taken the last of happiness from them.

It had been a fine ceremony indeed, the temple and public streets done up in white flowers and silk hangings, Jazmine positively glowing in the wedding gown Angela had worn, Dominique’s jewels at her throat.

For the first time since infancy, Charles had been genuinely speechless, watching her float down the aisle on her brother’s arm.

Hercules had chanced a glance at Raleigh. But his love would not so much as meet his eyes, the battle damage on his face still scabbing and raw, left arm carefully slung in black over his military jacket, hair pulled back in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, neater and smoother than normal. 

The king had no idea why Raleigh would think himself unappealing now; he had grown into an achingly handsome man.

Still, they did not speak, not unless they had to. Raleigh did not seek him out, and Hercules did not know how to begin such a conversation as the one they no doubt needed to have. Another two days of silence passed, right up to the night before the Beckets were due to depart, before Hercules worked up the courage to go see his love.

It was Charles and Jazmine. They were so happy together, playing in the gardens where they thought nobody could see, laughter rising up the ivy-covered castle walls. Hercules could remember the last time he’d laughed like that - the hours and minutes and seconds before Richard had caught them out in the orchards.

The peaches were just coming into season.

Raleigh had always been partial to peaches. 

“King,” Raleigh said in surprise, as the servant showed the king in. He was still in bed, books and notes scattered about the covers, and he started scooping it all into one big pile on a side table. “I am sorry for the state of the room, Doctor Geiszler has me on bed rest, I’m afraid, and of course that means he has enlisted my help for his research...”

“I am not worried about the room, Raleigh. You saved my kingdom, I can permit you a little mess,” Hercules said, and, feeling intensely awkward, held out the small cloth bag he’d brought with him. “I thought... I thought you might like a treat. To remember us, on the ride home tomorrow.”

Raleigh smiled, a brittle expression, and reached for the bag. “Yes, it shall be a tiring journey, no doubt. I cannot ride with this arm, and carriages are...” The smile failed, as he glanced in the bag. “King, why do you give this to me?”

“I am just Hercules, Raleigh. No need for formalities.”

His boy swallowed. “Why did you bring me this, Hercules?”

“I thought...”

“You know what this means.”

Hercules sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to touch Raleigh’s knee under the cover, but not trusting himself. “You went into that arena, thinking I hated you, that I was treating you like some plaything, to be discarded like broken pottery whenever I wished. I do not want you to go home still feeling that way, for it is not how I feel about you.”

Raleigh closed his eyes, entire body slumping over, and he set the peaches aside. “Being angry at you, it, it gave me purpose when I had none. Perhaps I allowed it to consume me.”

“It saddens me.”

“I know, I should not have said...”

“You spoke your feelings,” Hercules said softly. “In that, you have more courage than I.”

Raleigh looked away, into the small fire crackling in the hearth as a hedge against the cold rain outside. “I should not have doubted you.”

“You misunderstand me, Raleigh. It saddens me that there ever should have been doubt, that I gave you reason to suspect what your father told you.” He laid his hand atop Raleigh’s own, where it rested on the quilts. “It saddens me that you ever thought that I could not love the man you’ve become, nor the boy you were. It saddens me that you doubted the depth of my feelings, and the sincerity of my offer. It is still open, you know,” he added hopefully. “If you wished to stay, as my prince-consort, or even just as one of my men, anything, I... I would very much like that.”

Raleigh looked away, rubbing his forehead. 

“Raleigh, my love...”

“Do not say that,” Raleigh replied, quiet but forceful. “Do not call me that.”

“I do not understand, Raleigh. What is it you want from me?”

“I do not rightly know. I have lived too long, believing you indifferent to me, trying to hate you for it. This, it is too much. I cannot accept it right now.” 

The king breathed out, heart going cold, hope dying anew. “I see.”

“Perhaps, milord, if you give me some time, allow me to think on it...”

“No, you are right,” Hercules said brusquely, cutting it off with a wave of his hand and pushing himself away from the edge of Raleigh’s bed. “Quite right. There are too many years and too many leagues between us. Let it be enough, then, for me to have spoken the truth to you.”

Raleigh reached for him. “Hercules, please understand, it is not that I do not care for you...”

But Hercules could listen to no more of the boy’s excuses, and simply bowed a little, backing up towards the door. “I must take my leave from you, my prince. There are many things I must attend to, to ensure you have a comfortable departure tomorrow.”

“Of course, my king,” Raleigh whispered, and pulled the blankets up around him.

Hercules made it safely back to his own chambers before the emotion of it all overwhelmed him completely, and he collapsed into a chair, face in his hands and tears rolling free. He had not cried since receiving the news of his queen’s death; losing his prince all over again was simply too much to bear. And while he tried to tell himself that this merely meant he was free of that old sickness, free to live and dream of another, perhaps find himself another consort, Hercules could not square it with himself.

He had held himself in reserve for five years, never venturing very far beyond himself, waiting, in truth, for Raleigh to come home to him. 

But Raleigh did not think of him as home. Did not consider this place to be home.

Raleigh was well and truly lost to him.

Raleigh was gone.

+++++

Yancy did not want to say anything to Mako, as she was convinced that the combination of her little trick and the shock of the Kaiju attack had been sufficient to drive the pair back into each other’s arms. She was quite smug about the whole thing, in fact, and Yancy was not going to take that away from her.

But he, unlike her, was not so consumed with the task of helping Jazmine and caring for Dominique and setting everything around him just so that he could not see what was going on. That Raleigh stayed alone in his chamber for no real reason. That Hercules did not go close.

He knew. 

It had all gone quite badly.

Yancy was quite sick of it. Raleigh’s slow wasting of spirit, Hercules’ silence, the pall that seemed to cloud them both. All should have been in the open by now, all secrets told, all shames barred. Something was wrong with Raleigh, some malaise of spirit that transcended both love and war, and Yancy was too much a king to be the brother Raleigh needed right now.

It was painful to admit, but he had to.

He had dedicated his life to looking after his family, caring for them. If he could not help Raleigh now, he had to ensure that Raleigh was with somebody who would. And Hercules, Yancy knew, would cut out his heart if Raleigh but asked for it.

So that evening, he went to the king and asked him for a favor.

So in the morning, as he was saddling up his horse in preparation for the long return journey home, Raleigh lounging by the edge of the stall, to avoid the dreaded carriage a moment longer, Yancy made a pronouncement.

“You’ll not be coming with us, brother.”

Raleigh stopped cold. “What do you mean?”

“Hercules’ sword master was killed in the attack at the tourney. As a show of goodwill, I have decided to offer him your services in the man’s place.”

His brother was turning red. “You cannot do that!”

“I am your king,” Yancy replied blandly and adjusted the saddle cloth on his mare’s withers. “I can do anything I wish with you.”

“But this...”

And Yancy grabbed the front of Raleigh’s collar, quick as he could, and slammed him into the back of the stall, face close. “Six days ago I watched you walk out in from of a Kaiju commanders, unarmed but for a calvary saber, smiling. Hercules but talks to you, gives you the thing you want the most, his love, and what do you do? You throw a tantrum and run away again.”

“Yancy,” Raleigh whispered, trying to push away. “It is not like that.”

“It is exactly like that.” Yancy held him back. “And I will not take you home only for you to continue to destroy yourself over this thoroughly unnecessary angst.”

“Yancy...”

“Do whatever you like with the man. Court him, if you wish. Marry him, if you so desire. You have my blessing and my full support, should that be the path you decide upon.” He let his brother go and went back to his horse. “Or continue acting the spoiled younger prince and make his life miserable, or run off to go adventuring, or do whatever you like.”

Raleigh swallowed, licking his lips like he couldn’t get the words out properly, and finally settled for a downcast sigh. “Why do you abuse me so, brother?”

Yancy sighed. “I shall be back in a year, for the next tourney. If you wish, at that time, to return with me to Anchorage, I shall take you. Fair?”

And Raleigh sagged. “May I tell you something, brother?”

He sighed. “Of course, Rals. Anything,”

“I do not know what is wrong with me,” Raleigh began, halting. “Nothing has been right, since I came home from the front. Nothing feels right, nothing tastes right. I thought it was him, but it’s not, it can’t be. Hercules speaks such sweetness, and it does not fill the hole inside of me. I wake in the morning and wonder why I have no knife under the pillow. My clothes are weightless, I feel naked in these peaceful lands, and I go to bed at night without washing the blood from my hands, and it all is as if at any moment, it will be taken away again. I constantly wonder, where are they, when will they come? And out there, it felt... it felt like an answer. Nothing is else real anymore, don’t you see? Not even him, and I cannot bear...”

Leaving the saddle on its peg a moment longer, Yancy came back over and pulled his brother into a bear hug, kissing the crown of his head, stopping the desperate stream of words.

In his arms, Raleigh took a few shuddering breaths.

Then sobbed. 

The way he had the morning their mother died.

+++++

Hercules had not known what to make of Yancy’s plea - _Hercules, please, I do not know what to do for him, I do not know how to help him, this kind of battle fatigue is far beyond my ability to understand, much less heal_ \- the night before. Only that he would never, could never, refuse Raleigh help of any kind. Even if the boy’s love for him was dead, his own smoldered on, the embers of what was left of his heart burning for Raleigh and Raleigh alone.

If Raleigh needed him, if there was anything he could do...

“My home is always your home,” Hercules had said. “For as long as I live, son.”

Yancy had hugged him.

But it wasn’t until after the Becket household’s departure that Hercules felt truly settled about the decision, coming up to the top of the castle walls to find Raleigh there, watching the caravan disappear up the wide road that connected their two lands.

Hercules took up on a battlement near him - close enough to talk, but not to touch.

And as the carriage drew down to ant-sized, Raleigh finally spoke.

“I am broken inside, my king,” the prince said quietly, words mingling in the winds whipping down off the mountains. “Everything feels very far away, as if the war is the only real thing and this is all some faery-glamor.”

“I know that feeling. It can take a long time to come home. Even when your body returns, your mind sometimes does not.”

“I thought I could stay this way, exist with it. But I can’t, can I?”

“No. I would say no.”

“Out there, in the arena, even when I thought I was a dead man, I kept pressing. I did not think I wanted to, but,” and Raleigh paused, licked dry lips. “I kept fighting. I could not stop myself from fighting.”

“That is something.”

“Is it? I do not... I cannot trust myself, my king. There is nothing solid in my heart any more.”

Hercules lifted one of Raleigh’s hands to place it over his own heart. “Then trust mine, at least, my love,” he murmured, and twisted a strand of errant hair between his fingers. “It beats for you, and you alone.”

Raleigh closed his eyes, leaning against him. “I had no hope of coming back to you. I was so certain I would die there. I wanted to die there.”

“Aye,” Hercules replied. “A soldier knows he may be called upon to die for king and country, and when he does not, it may feel as if he has failed.” And he lifted Raleigh’s chin. “But you are no foot-soldier, Raleigh Becket, you are a prince, a knight, a warrior, and you served your king faithfully, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I ache, milord. How can I be your lover, when I cannot feel anything but pain?”

“Then allow me to be your father, friend, brother-in-arms,” Hercules said softly. “Only tell me the role you wish me to fill, and I shall. Only stay by my side, my prince. Stay with me. For I love you, and cannot bear to be parted from you again.”

Raleigh didn’t nod, or agree, or anything like it. Just leaned on the parapet with his good arm, watching his family trundle up the wide road towards Anchorage.

He was smiling. 

A smile Hercules hadn’t seen since that morning in the orchard, back when he was young and golden and full of innocent hopes for the future.

If Hercules could give something of that back to him, however small, however fleeting...

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And wow, for such a simple idea, this one really got ridiculously involved on me. I probably should have thought the Kaiju out a bit more, but I honestly didn't expect them to show up. 
> 
> I'd like to think that next year, when Yancy comes back, he might walk in on Hercules and Raleigh in the peach orchard himself, and Raleigh is shameless about it. 
> 
> ...Yeah, I like that thought.


End file.
